


Absolution

by RandallsRedTie



Category: The Hour
Genre: Spoilers, buried secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:32:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandallsRedTie/pseuds/RandallsRedTie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exploring some things with Randall and Lix.  Spoilers if you haven't seen 2.4 yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolution

      Randall sat at his desk, fiddling with the paper in his hands. It was late, well after 11 and everyone else had gone home. The only light in the room came from his desk lamp, its eerie amber glow highlighting his deep-set features and shining off his glasses. Behind the spectacles his eyes were glassy, shining with tears not yet shed. The paper in his hand was the same one he'd read out to Lix earlier, detailing the wherabouts of their daughter, Sophia. The name repeated over and over in Randall's mind like a mantra, an absolution, his own personal Hail Mary. Three of the most gorgeous syllables ever strung together. So-phi-a. He repeated it in a French accent aloud. _Sophia._  Randall felt lighter that day than he had in a long time, unburdened. He also replayed his interactions with Lix that day, happy to have broken through to her and gotten her to open up about the past.

      He'd lived for nearly twenty years with the guilt of leaving Lix and his unborn child in Spain. In his youth he had been a proud, vain man and when Lix had refused his marriage proposal he'd taken that as a sign and had left and to hell with her. Time passed and bitter regret had settled inside him. Not a day went by where he didn't experience a moment of pure panic at what may have happened to Lix and their child. Guilt followed him like a spectre, chased momentarily away by the application of strong drink. When it returned it did so two-fold and so Randall had fallen into a pattern of abject alcoholism. Self-loathing grew in him like a cancer, threatening to eat him alive from the inside out. He'd always had bad habits, the fidgeting, the constant need to organize the world around him, but these behaviors worsened over time. At night he'd prowl around the office, finding something to put into order. Randall, being a highly intelligent man, didn't need Freud or anyone else to tell him that his constant need to organize the things around him was because he couldn't organize his own life. 

     Time came and went. A war was fought and Randall was in France to cover it all, having been rejected by the army on account of his flat feet and deafness in his right ear. Then the war ended and Randall decided to stay in Paris, having been offered a job working in radio for the BBC World Service. Then, one night, while staggering home from a bar in Paris he saw her. Lix. Out with some friends and laughing that beautiful goddamn laugh of hers. Randall didn't dare approach her. He just watched from the shadows as they walked by, her looking every bit as beautiful as always. He let himself wonder about their baby, where he or she was and he realized he didn't even know if the baby had survived being born. His own child and he didn't even know if he or she were alive. Emboldened by the scotch coursing through his veins he followed Lix to the building she was staying in. Just as she was walking through the front doors he called out her name.

"Lix!" She whirled around to find who was calling her. He was still partially obscured so he stepped forward, the light from the streetlamp revealing him. Lix's face went white as she recognized him, struck speechless at the ghost appearing before her. After a few seconds of trying she finally found her voice.

"My God....Randall. What on earth are you doing here?"

"I work here, have done since the war started," he slurred.

"I don't mean in Paris Randall. Christ everyone back home has read your war coverage. I mean HERE, in front of my building. How did you find me?!"

"I didn't. I happened to be walking by as you and your friends were out carousing. It's been such a long time since...well you know. I figured there was no harm in coming to see you..."

"Do you expect me to believe that? That after all this time you just happened to see me on the street?"

He was silent for a moment, rocking slightly back on his heels. Then he spoke, "You believe what you like Lix. It's never stopped you before."

"Well whatever the reason are you satisfied? You've seen me. Here I am. And there you are. I'm glad you made it through the war in one piece...well almost," she said, eyes taking in the state of him. Dishevelled hair, rumpled clothing, swaying drunkenly. This is not the Randall she knew in Spain. He was gone. In his place was a drunken melancholic whose eyes burned with anger and hatred. She knew those feelings were centered around her.

"No Lix, I'm not satisfied," he said, voice holding a knife-sharp edge of anger. "The last time I saw you, which admittedly was some time ago, I recall a conversation about you being pregnant with my baby. And the subsequent denial of my marriage proposal."

"Yes Randall. What amazing powers of recall you have. You're not the only one who remembers things...I remember you leaving without so much as a goodbye.."

"Well....where is he? Or she? Where's our child?" he interrupted, shaking with rage.

Lix was silent.

"Tell me!!" he screamed at her, fists balled at his side. Lights flicked on in the building. Curious tenants peeked out to see why there was some madman shouting in English in the street.

"I....I don't know Randall. I don't know where she is."

"She...we...you had a little girl?" he asked, feeling the anger slowly starting to recede. 

"Yes. A girl. She came in June, on the 24th."

"Oh Lix...but you don't know where she is?"

"No. I....." Lix swallowed hard, emotion making her throat tense up. "I gave her up for adoption. I had to. She deserved better than what I could give her. The family who took her were very sweet. If you could have seen them with her Randall....they were perfect." Lix could feel the tears beginning to burn in her eyes.

"I see. I understand Lix. I should never have left." he said quietly. His hands were no longer balled into fists at his side. Instead they reached up, fiddled with his dishevelled tie and waistcoat. His gaze dropped down to his shoes, embarassment and shame causing him to be unable to look Lix in the eyes any longer.

"I named her Sophia. After your mother..." Randall looked up at Lix, stunned, instantly sobered by her admission.

"You did?"

"Yes. I don't know if they decided to keep her name but that's the one I gave her."

"My mother would have liked that," he said, smiling. Lix looked at him sadly. In that moment he realized he wasn't the only one living with guilt and shame. 

"Well it's getting late. I suppose I better go. I've got a deadline tomorrow," he said sheepishly, starting to shiver.

"I'm sure you do. I am glad you've done so well for yourself Randall. Please do try to take care of yourself."

"I will Lix. Only if you do the same. Are you in Paris much longer?"

"No, I actually go back to London next week. With the war over there isn't much left for me to do here."

"Yes that's true. Your photos were stunning by the way. Even if a few had a bit of dust in them," he teased half-heartedly.

"Always leaving the cap off. I never learn."

"No, well you're not the only one. Safe trip home."

"Thanks, you be well Randall."

"I will Lix. And thank you, for being honest with me. I really do understand why you did...what you had to do."

"Thank you for that Randall. Goodnight," she said before walking through the doors and up the stairs into her flat. She walked over to the window, watched Randall's slim figure walk away into the darkness. Before she could stop herself she was sinking to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. All the guilt and shame she'd felt at abandoning their baby crashed down on her and spilled out of her eyes. "I did what I had to," she whispered to herself, over and over until she could speak no more. It would be hours before she found the strength to drag herself to bed. Randall walked through the Paris streets aimlessly until dawn. He didn't want to go home, didn't want to sit alone in his flat with his thoughts. Instead he sat by the banks of the Seine and waited for the sun to come up, smoking until he had no cigarettes left and then walking to get another pack from the nearest vendor. When it was time he returned home to clean up before work. 

*

That had been 12 years ago. 

Now they knew where she was. That she was alive and well. That she was a musician, a trait certainly inherited from Lix. Randall wondered what she looked like. She'd certainly be tall and more than likely blue-eyed. His hair had been a golden brown before turning the slate grey he wore today. Lix's hair was still the same almost-black that it was back then. What would that combination produce in Sophia? In his mind he saw a beautiful young woman, taking more after Lix than him, for her sake. He didn't know what she studied other than music. His long fingers, if passed to her, would lend themselves wonderfully to a pianist. Not many people knew it but Lix had a lovely singing voice. Perhaps Sophia were studying to be a singer. Randall felt a pang of regret at how his life had unfolded. He wished things had been different, wished Lix had said yes instead of no. Then they could have raised their child together, watched with pride as she took her first steps, said her first words. Watch as she blossomed into a beautiful girl who did well at school and never took no for an answer. 

Randall decided such thoughts were futile and not worth the energy. She was happy and well and that, for now, was enough. With a sigh he got up from his chair, gathered his hat and coat and switched off the lamp before walking out the door.

 

 


End file.
